Jess noticed a strange look in his eyes as if he had something to say yet held back. “What is it?”
He moved up next to the dresser, propped his hip against the side, and picked up a bottle of her perfume.
Bringing the fragrance to his nose, he inhaled deeply and met her gaze. “Where did you go tonight?”
She wasn’t about to mention Steven. Not that she’d done anything wrong, but Owen probably wouldn’t believe that. “I walked around the mall. Why?”
“Are you sure about that?” He carefully returned the perfume to its previous spot.
Jessica’s stomach tightened. She hated like hell lying to Owen. “Yes, I’m sure. Where were you?”
“At a bar,” he answered without hesitation. “Having a drink.”
“Why do you ask, Owen? You’ve been suspicious of my every move since we arrived in this godforsaken place.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, holding her gaze without blinking. “Ah, yes, this godforsaken place. Do you really hate it so much?”
“No, I don’t hate it.”
“It’s no secret that you’re not happy here, Jess. In fact, you made it quite clear that you didn’t want to move to Florida to begin with.”
“Owen, I—”
“Did you set this whole thing up?”
Momentarily speechless, Jessica blinked. “Are you asking me what I think you are?”
“Did you stage this entire scene tonight?” he continued, the accusation hanging in the air.
Jessica’s last thread of control snapped. “You son of a bitch! Do you really think I’m capable of something so despicable? After all these years of marriage, you honestly don’t know me at all.”
She strode toward the door, only to come up short as he caught her by the arm and spun her to face him. “Answer the question, Jess. Did you leave those words on the wall in there?”
“Screw you,” she seethed, twisting her arm free of his hold. “Screw you and this town!”
Storming from the room, Jess snatched up her purse along with her keys and marched to her SUV with Owen tight on her heels.
“Go ahead and run, Jess. That’s what you’re best at, isn’t it?”
She jerked her car door open and turned to face him. “Apparently so, Owen. Maybe you should ask yourself why that is? If someone is running, they have to be running from something or someone, don’t they?”
Climbing into the SUV, Jessica tossed her purse onto the passenger’s seat and reached to close the door. “I’ll come by tomorrow and pick up some of my things.”
Owen prevented her from closing the door. Though he looked angry, she could see the anxiety lurking just beneath the surface as if he feared he’d gone too far. “Where are you going to go?”
“Anywhere but here.”
“So, that’s it. You’re leaving me? No talking it out?”
“Do you really care? Why would you want someone here capable of the things you accused me of?”
“Jess…”
“Move,” she bit out, putting the SUV in reverse.
Left with no choice but to get out of the way or get ran over, Owen backed away.
It wasn’t until Jessica reached the intersection, that she allowed the tears to freely flow. Owen believed her responsible for leaving that message on the wall. Whatever bond that had remained after Jacob’s death, had finally severed under the pressure.
* * * *
Jess had been up most of the night, pacing the floor of the small motel she’d rented. She had waited until time for Owen to leave for work before driving to the house to grab a few of her things. She couldn’t stay at the motel indefinitely, but it would be a roof over her head until she could decide what to do next.
Turning onto Meadowbrook Circle, Jess noticed a couple of patrol cars parked at the edge of her yard.
She pulled into the drive, taking in the Alabama plates on one of the vehicles.
Snagging her purse, she hoisted it onto her shoulder and exited her SUV. Two officers followed suit, one of them female.
“Jessica Nobles?” the female inquired as she approached.
At Jessica’s nod, the woman extended her hand. “I’m Detective Vickerson, ma’am.” She gestured to her companion. “And this is Officer Dunlap with the Sparkleberry Hills Police Department.”
Jessica accepted her outstretched palm, curious as to what an Alabama law enforcement official would be doing at her house. “Is this about the break in?”
Detective Vickerson shook her head. “Would you mind coming with us to the station? We need to ask you a few questions.”
What could they possibly need to ask her about at the station that they couldn’t ask her now? “What sort of questions?”
“We’ll fill you in on everything once we reach the station. Please, come with me.”
Taking hold of Jessica’s elbow, Vickerson guided her toward the squad car with the Alabama plates and opened the back door. “Watch your head.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The ride to the station had been excruciating for Jessica. No matter how many times she’d inquired about her reason for being in the back of that patrol car, the detective had refused to tell her.
Now, there she sat in a small interrogation room at the local police station, still in the proverbial dark.
The door opened, and the detective stepped inside. She pulled out a chair, taking a seat across the table from Jess.
“Why have I been brought here?” Jess demanded, nervous and more than a little confused. “Am I being arrested for something?”
Vickerson held a yellow folder in her hands, which she promptly placed on the table in front of her. “You’re not under arrest, Mrs. Nobles. We just need to ask you some questions.”
“About what?” Wrapping her arms around her waist, Jessica watched the detective open the folder and retrieve a piece of paper.
“What is your relationship with Sandy Weaver?”
The question caught Jessica off guard. Why would they be asking her about Sandy? “I don’t have a relationship with Mrs. Weaver. I barely know her.”
“You barely know her,” Vickerson repeated. “Then how do you explain your number in her cell phone? It looks as if you were the last person she spoke with by phone.”
What were the cops doing with Sandy Weaver’s phone? Jess wondered, surprised by the question. “I called Mrs. Weaver a few days ago. What is going on?”
“What did you talk about?” the detective continued, ignoring Jessica’s question.
Jess couldn’t possibly tell them the reason for her phone call to Sandy. They would think her a lunatic. So, she hedged. “My husband and I had a run in with a crazy man who shares the cul-de-sac with us. I’d heard that Mrs. Weaver used to live in our neighborhood, and I was hoping maybe she could shed some light on the relationship between him and his wife.”
“That’s it?” the detective pressed, holding the paper in one hand and propping her chin on the other. “You called her to ask her opinion on one of you neighbors? You’ve never met with her or visited her at any time?”
Jessica shook her head, unable to meet Vickerson’s gaze. “No.”
Laying the paper down on the tabletop, the detective slid it across the wooden surface, stopping it beneath Jessica’s nose. “Then how do you explain this?”
Studying the black and white markings on the page, Jessica lifted her gaze. “What’s is it?”
“Your fingerprints. Mrs. Nobles. The ones we lifted from Sandy Weaver’s living room.”
More confusion rushed in. Why would they fingerprint Sandy’s living room? “I don’t understand. Has something happened to Mrs. Weaver?”
“Her body was found last night, stabbed multiple times.”
All the blood drained from Jessica’s face. “She’s dead?”
The detective opened the folder and pulled several photos from inside. She slid them across the table as she’d done with the paper.
Jessica lowered her gaze to th
e gruesome images, horror slamming into her gut. Sandy’s mutilated body lay sprawled on her living room floor in a pool of her own blood.
“Oh, God.” Jessica staggered from her chair, dropped to her knees in front of a small wastebasket by the door, and heaved.
The detective showed no mercy. “I need to know your whereabouts last night, Mrs. Nobles.”
Jessica shuddered, another bout of heaves gripping her body. “I stayed at a motel in town,” she gasped.
Vickerson knocked on the glass behind her. The door opened a moment later, and a wad of paper towels were thrust beneath Jessica’s nose.
She accepted the offering, wiping at her mouth and watery eyes.
“I’ll need the name of that motel.” Vickerson demanded, suspicion lining her tone. “And why did you lie about knowing Sandy Weaver?”.
Jess slowly got to her feet and returned to her chair, careful not to look at the horrific pictures lying before her. “Because, I didn’t want you to think I was crazy.”
“What I think about your mental status should be the least of your concern, Mrs. Nobles. If I were you, I’d start talking. Sandy Weaver is dead, and the only leads we have to go on seem to involve you.”
Swallowing more bile, Jessica pushed the photos across the table out of her field of vision. “I didn’t kill her, Detective. You have to believe me.”
“Let’s start over.” Vickerson returned the pictures to the folder. “Why don’t you begin by telling me how you came to know Mrs. Weaver.”
Jessica spent the next two hours, filling the detective in on everything that had happened since her move to Sparkleberry Hills—ending with, “Sandy asked me to leave, and I did. I haven’t spoken to her since.”
Vickerson shifted in her chair, crossing her legs at the knee. “What were you doing at the motel last night?”
“My husband and I had been arguing. Things got heated up and I left. I had just come home this morning to get some of my things, when I found you guys there.”
“Were you alone at the motel?”
Jessica nodded. “Other than the couple of neighbors I’ve met, the ex-reporter who worked on the Dayton boy’s disappearance and Sandy Weaver, I don’t know anyone else here.”
“Did you tell anyone about your visit with Sandy Weaver?”
“Steven Ruckle and Melanie Dayton. That’s it.”
Vickerson jotted the two names down on a piece of paper. “And who are they?”
“Steven is the ex-reporter I mentioned, and Melanie is the mother of the missing boy, Terry Dayton.”
The door opened, and an older gentleman stuck his head inside. “We got the search warrant.”
Vickerson sent the man a curt nod before scrawling something on a small notepad. “Officers are being sent to search your house and vehicle, Mrs. Nobles. In the meantime, I need to ask you some more questions.”
Jessica fought the urge to vomit again. “The keys to the house and my car are in my purse. Please don’t let them damage the door to the house.”
“Will do.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Owen stood at the window in his office, staring out at the busy traffic beyond. His heart ached with the knowledge that he was quickly losing Jessica. She hadn’t come home last night.
The phone on his desk rang, pulling him out of his despairing thoughts. He trailed across the room and snatched up the receiver. “Owen Nobles.”
“Hi, Mr. Nobles, it’s Marge from across the street.”
He’d know her voice anywhere. “Hello, Marge. What can I do for you?”
“I just thought you should know that there are a couple of cops searching your house.”
He couldn’t have heard her right. Owen had expected an officer to call or stop by with information on the break in, but not to search his home. “Are you sure they’re not looking for Jess or me? We were told they might stop by with information about the break in.”
“I’m positive,” she rushed out. “I walked over there to ask them what was going on. They told me they had a search warrant and asked me to stay out of the way.”
Disbelief was instant. Owen tightened his hold on the phone receiver. “Is Jessica there?”
“Her SUV is in the drive. But I didn’t see her when they entered the house.”
Owen’s eyes narrowed. “If she didn’t let them in, how did they get inside the house?”
“They had a key.”
Thanking Mrs. Hawthorn for notifying him, Owen hung up the phone, grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair and sailed from his office.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he informed his secretary on his way past her desk. “If something urgent arises before I get back, call me on my cell.”
She opened her mouth to answer, but Owen only breezed on by. He rushed out the back, unlocked his car, and jumped inside. Why were the police searching his home, and where the hell was Jessica? He didn’t know, but he would find out soon enough.
* * * *
Owen arrived home ten minutes later and pulled in behind Jessica’s SUV.
He noticed the front door to his house stood open and two patrols cars were parked on the grassy lawn of his yard.
Climbing out, Owen hurried up the drive only to be stopped at the door by the same officer who’d worked the scene the evening before. “Please wait outside, Mr. Nobles. We’ll be finished here shortly.”
Owen glanced inside in time to see another officer going through Jessica’s china cabinet. “Why are you searching our home, and where is my wife?”
“Your wife has been taken into custody for questioning.”
Owen threw out his hands. “You couldn’t question her here? It was a break in. Nothing was taken.”
A small indention appeared between the officer’s eyes. “She’s a person of interest in a homicide.”
“A homicide?” Owen growled. “What homicide?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nobles. You’ll have to speak with the Banbridge County detective about that. She’s at the station with your wife.”
Owen realized two things in that moment. He had no idea where the hell Banbridge County was, and Jessica was suspected of homicide.
He rushed back to his car.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jessica had never answered so many questions in all her life. Her nerves were shot, and she needed to relieve herself worse than ever before.
“We’ve confirmed your alibi with Steven Ruckle on your whereabouts yesterday evening. We also confirmed your check in to the motel. Did you leave your room at any time during the night?”
“No,” Jessica assured the detective. “I told you, I took an antianxiety pill and went to sleep.”
Detective Vickerson jotted down something in her notepad. “How often do you take antianxiety medication?”
“Not very often. I wouldn’t have taken one last night had I not been upset about the fight I had with my husband.”
“What was the fight about?”
Jessica stomach tightened in dread. “The message left on the wall of our home.”
“From the break in,” Vickerson murmured, once again writing in her notepad.
“Yes.”
The detective looked up, tapping her pen against her chin. “Why would you argue about the writing on the wall?”
What the hell was Jess supposed to say to that? My husband accused me of being responsible for it? “I don’t know why we fought about it, Detective. I guess both of our nerves were beyond shot by that point.”
The questioning went on for another half hour before a tap sounded on the door.
Vickers excused herself and then stepped into the hall, leaving Jessica alone with her anxiety.
They suspected her of killing Sandy Weaver. How was she supposed to clear herself when she was the last one to call or visit the blonde psychic?
Vickers stepped back into the room, a tall, gray-haired gentleman, carrying a briefcase right behind her.
Setting the briefcase on t
he table, the man announced. “My name is Lucas Hill. I was hired by your husband to represent you.”
He then turned his intelligent gaze to Vickerson. “Are you arresting my client?”
The detective shook her head. “Not as of yet.”
“Then she has nothing further to say.”
Jessica glanced from one to the other.
The attorney gripped Jessica by the elbow and coaxed her to stand. “Let’s go, Mrs. Nobles.”
Getting to her feet, Jess allowed the attorney to lead her to the door.
“Don’t leave town,” Vickerson called to Jessica’s retreating back. “We’ll be in touch.”
Jess nodded and stepped into the hall. Neither she or Lucas Hill spoke until they reached the front of the station.
Owen pushed away from the wall. “Are you okay?”
Jessica wanted to run to him, but something in his eyes held her back. “I’m tired, but other than that, yes. I just really want to get out of here.”
Owen nodded and then shook the attorney’s hand. “Thank you for getting here so fast, Mr. Hill. I’m Owen Nobles, Jessica’s husband. We spoke on the phone.”
Lucas returned the handshake. “My office is just across the street. If you’ll follow me, we’ll get everything sorted out in no time.”
Releasing the attorney’s hand, Owen stepped back and placed his arm around Jessica’s shoulders.
She had to admit that it felt good to have her husband to lean on; even if he didn’t trust her.
The trio crossed the street and entered a grey, three-story building. They took the elevator to the third floor, following closely behind Hill as he stepped off into the hall and entered a large, extravagant office.
Hill skirted his desk, nodding toward the two leather chairs situated in front of it. “Please, have a seat.”
Jessica and Owen sat while the attorney opened a drawer and pulled out some papers.
“My assistant usually handles the paperwork, but she’s gone home for the day. I just happened to be here working on a case when your husband called.”
The Boy in the Window: A Psychological Thriller Page 9
